


For Now

by Ramadiii



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Dream-fic, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Forbidden Love, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Loveless Marriage, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 20:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18999709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramadiii/pseuds/Ramadiii
Summary: Hiya! I had a dream recently about a man who looked eerily like Henry Cavill so I thought I'd write it down, I hope you like it!





	For Now

Her cheek burned where it had been struck but she was glad not to have been brought to her knees, the servants were bad enough but not in front of their son.   
His son.   
The boy whose every waking moment was a constant reminder of his father’s overbearing existence.   
The man pushed past her as he left, the little blond boy trailing nervously after him like a dog awaiting a beating, eyes flitting towards his mother before finally heading the father’s call.   
She took a few moments to gather herself, steadying her racing heart, before leaving the hall to join the guests that had gathered in the reception room at her absence.   
She sat down on the plush sofa, her posture stiff enough even without the corset, and put a strained smile on her face as she began idle conversation.   
The air was heavy and the fumes of the wine made her hot but as her husband came to sit at her side she chose not to order the windows toward the garden open, he so disliked her notions of fresh air, especially on rainy days like these.   
She could not stop herself from indulging in the drink, this party had been her husband’s doing and she would like nothing more than to leave these people, none of whom she knew, and retire to the gazebo in the gardens for the rest of the night.   
But alas, fortune oft favors the bold and the lady found her courage lacking this particular evening and so she continued the charade of the graceful hostess whose sole reason for existing was to serve her devoted husband.   
As she raised the wine to her lips, ignoring the warning glance from said lord of the manor, she observed the herald of the night, the servant with the most teeth, making his way into the room to announce a latecomer, all while struggling to hide a noticeable limp.   
The lady’s breath caught in her throat as the name of a young lord was called, the young lord who had visited her in her sleep and oftentimes in her bed after dark.   
Her husband stood to greet the young man, and with only a moment of hesitation she followed suit, giving him a curtsy as he kissed her hand. His coarse fingers against her skin made her spine tingle but she gave him the same placated smile she’d kept in place all night and forced herself to take her hand back.   
   
The rest of the evening was a tedious affair.   
After the latecomer’s arrival she had forced herself to stay away from the wine, the heavens only knew how it loosened inhibitions, and so she was painfully aware of the hotness burning her skin and had she not been so afraid her husband would suspect something she would have asked to be excused.   
Instead she remained in place on the sofa, fingers delicately twirling the glass ever so slightly between them, as she smiled and nodded and laughed in all the right places, all the while more or less ignoring her lover as he sat not two seats away, his hair particularly curled by the damp weather and a short beard grazing his chin.   
She knew if she looked at him she would give herself away. Could feel her mouth water and her core pulse with want all whilst her heart threatened to burst from the terror of her actions.   
Should her husband discover her outmost betrayal the punishment would be death.   
Her only hope was that her actions would not reflect poorly upon her son, as she was quite fond of the boy even if she’d never felt the kind of love she knew was expected of a mother.   
The lady found her eyes beginning to wander, and despite being unable to seek out those of her lover her cheeks pricked like she’d just come in from the snow, but instead of cold she felt fire.   
She did not dare think of how red her face must be but reached up a hand to cool them slightly.   
Finding them feverish she placed her glass on the table as silently as she could and announced that the wine must be stronger than usual this evening, begging their guests’ pardon while she excused herself for some fresh air.   
It was as clear a sign as any to her husband that she would not be returning to the party but he did not wish to embarrass both him and his guests by disciplining her in their company, so he let her go.

The lady did go for fresh air. At first.   
Having no regard for either her dresses, face or hair she stepped barefoot right out into the cascading rain, breathing in the smell of the freshly fallen leaves and wet grass. For the longest time she stood there, her head dropped back so as to let the rain wash away the paints and reveal the face she’d been given by the heavens at her birth.   
She could hear the faint laughter from inside but if she focused hard enough the rain was nearly strong enough to drown it out, and it was not until her skin started to pebble that she began to move inside, taking the path through the kitchens to her room so no one would see her.   
Now, like so many times in the past, she was grateful her husband did not seem opposed to separate bedrooms and just as a precaution she made sure to lock the door behind her before moving to take off her wet clothes. She’d learned after the first time that keeping a locked door between her and her drunk husband was the safest solution, it had taken weeks for the bruises to fade.   
She could no longer hear the party going on upstairs, and she wondered silently to herself how long she’d been outside for. It got dark so fast this time of year and she couldn’t be sure as both the wine and the strain of the evening had left her rather flustered.   
It was on nights like these she was glad to have her room by the kitchens, out of sight and out of mind for any respectable person and perfectly at ease on her own. It was after all not far from what she’d been used to before her marriage had forced her up the social ladder.

A soft rap on the only window of the room brought her mind back to the present.   
The lady only caught a dark figure moving and yet her heart leapt, without bothering to cover herself she unbarred the door, looked to see the hallway empty before moving towards the kitchen door.   
For a fleeting moment she wished him to leave, to not bring her heart so much joy and in its absence misery. But she could not bring herself to send him away and so she opened the door to let him in.   
His face was as beautiful as she remembered and she felt starved of his presence as if they had not been mere feet apart hours ago under the watchful eye of her husband, pressing her lips against him before he’d even entered the narrow entryway.   
His hands caressed her face as he moved them inside, expertly locking the door before she could drag him with her to her room.

Once inside, safe from her husband’s drunken antics, the young lord brushed his thumb against the bruised apple of her cheek. It had been difficult to tell in the heated halls and with the wine flowing but there in the cold belly of the manor the red mark on her face was as clear as day.   
He could feel her shudder as he leaned in to kiss her skin, feeling her fingers bore into the fabric of his shirt, her breath shallow against his neck. Oh, how he craved her.   
No matter how many times he would visit her his thirst was never quenched. He had known from the first night he’d held her in his arms, he’d never be able to let her go.   
He was drawn to her, one might even dare to say he loved her. The way she would show him that unguarded smile when he kissed her stomach, the way her fingers always hesitated, seeking permission to touch the marred skin left behind from the war, the way she felt against him, fit like the almighty creator had carved them from the same stone before breathing life into them.   
His lady’s wet hair dripped cool droplets against his skin as she helped relive him of his clothes and he smiled against her lips. How he would have loved to stand in the rain with her.   
Had he been her husband he would not have shamed her into obedience. He would have taken his shoes off and danced with her as the water soaked their skin. He would have kissed her out there in the garden for all to see, and made love to her in the gazebo. Sweet and tender, like she so deserved.

But he was not her husband. And he was forced to admit that truth to himself every morning he would wake up without her by his side, the only bit of solace he could find was that no other man had the privilege to do so either.   
No, her bed was only open to him. A standing invitation that someday might get them both killed.   
But for now, they had what they needed.   
And that would just have to be enough.   
For now.


End file.
